


The Time It Takes

by CherryBlossomMonologues



Category: Gravitation
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Forbidden Love, M/M, Madness, Pre-Series, Redemption, Shota, Shotacon, Taboo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBlossomMonologues/pseuds/CherryBlossomMonologues
Summary: I stupidly thought I could save him, but no one could.The half-Japanese vocalist of Nittle Grasper recounts his unprecedented rise to fame…It was, like, ten minutes before we were on, and all I could do was be, like, “Earth to Ryuuichi!”…and the forbidden passion that literally drove him crazy.A single thought somehow penetrated; I have to wait.  No, I can’t wait.





	1. TRACK 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written circa 2001/2002. Unfinished.
> 
> “The Time It Takes” has not been available to read anywhere for the better part of a decade. I am republishing here on AO3 for posterity’s sake.
> 
>  _Story Background:_ This work began as a serious exploration into the psychology of Sakuma Ryuuichi, his rise to stardom, and his (apparently canonical) romantic relationship with Uesugi Tatsuha. Due to the gigantic age difference between the two men, as well as the aesthetic vibe of later volumes of the _Gravitation_ manga generally, it is also extremely shotacon. That aspect of the thing eventually started to become a problem—not because any of my readers were offended, it’s not like I ever had that many in the first place—but because I was making myself uncomfortable! In the end, I abandoned the work unfinished.

_I stupidly thought I could save him, but no one could._

The half-Japanese vocalist of Nittle Grasper recounts his unprecedented rise to fame…

_It was, like, ten minutes before we were on, and all I could do was be, like, “Earth to Ryuuichi!”_

…and the forbidden passion that literally drove him crazy. 

_A single thought somehow penetrated; I have to wait.  No, I can’t wait._

~Only on VH1’s Behind the Music—The Sakuma Ryuuichi Story.~

 

_Wow, has it really been seven years?  Time certainly flies, doesn’t it?  Although I must say, you are just as beautiful as you were then._

_No, no!  That’s not flattery; it’s the honest truth._

_Ah, I suppose I have changed quite a bit.  I’m so happy, now.  More so than I’ve ever been in my entire life, I think._

_Yes.  Exactly.  Fame and fortune aren’t happiness by any stretch of the imagination—they won’t fill up those empty places in the heart.  I knew before I had either what my one path to happiness would be._

_You always go straight to the most difficult questions, don’t you?  Err…you know, even after all these years, I still have trouble talking about it…_

_No!  Absolutely not!  It has nothing to do with that!_

_Don’t worry.  Please.  No, don’t apologize.  Honestly, I don’t even know about those sorts of things; there is only one person I’ve ever truly desired._

_God, this is so hard…I…_

_Yes.  So you already knew.  Thank you for saying it for me._

_You see why it is so difficult for me, surely.  Of all the people in the world, I wanted him.  Him!  A person who, for so many very good reasons, I couldn’t—I shouldn’t—have._

_Huh?  Why should I be coy about it now?  What motive—_

_True, true.  The public is always curious about such things.  It makes such a good scandal.  But, at least they aren’t after me for it._

_I guess not.  Public opinion was never foremost in my mind.  But him, him I wouldn’t betray again.  Not after what happened._

_No, I hardly thought about it afterward.  Except one night.  That was the toughest._

_Just so.  I worked really hard at not thinking or feeling at all.  All of the emotion and turmoil and…hope…went into the music._

_Yes, that was the song.  A lot of stuff from the past seven years still hasn’t come back.  Even those lyrics.  I hardly recall writing them.  All I remember is that a single thought somehow penetrated:  I have to wait.  No, I can’t wait._

_Because I loved him.  And I wanted him, more than anything._

_That’s right.  No need to beat around the bush anymore.  It drove me crazy._

***

“Err…Ryuuichi, are you, like, _absolutely_ sure?”

A small window in one corner of the studio bathed the three band members in a shaft of soft, golden light.  Dust motes drifted like illuminated white stardust meandering through radiant space, and with its polished wooden floors and undecorated white walls, the recording studio seemed the perfect site for the realization of infinite potential.  Aspiring bands make it or break it in a place like this, and this particular band now inhabiting it was recording their very first album.  They had not yet had their trial by fire, but they had hit a stumbling block already; the pressure to make their work a success was starting to gnaw at them, spawning niggling doubts in the backs of their minds.  Could they do it?  Would the public love their music?  What will happen if we aren’t a success?  Nonetheless, these three young people stood confidently behind the glass, the woman glaring confrontationally at the man before the microphone and the third man visibly avoiding the conflict as he picked out half-hearted chords on an electric keyboard.

The man at the microphone ran slender, well-shaped fingers through his long brown hair, brushing it away from his face with a quick, annoyed gesture.  He was beautiful in a way that defied petty notions of gender.  Tall and slender, with rounded limbs, his body was graceful, and he held it with unconscious dignity that bellied the non-descript white t-shirt and faded blue jeans.  His features were symmetrical; he had a small, delicate chin, high cheekbones, and large, almond eyes of the most unlikely shade of clear, azure blue.  His hair, sweeping almost to his knees in rich, light brown waves, too, marked him as an exotic other—half-Japanese and half-gaijin.  Agitated, the man shook that hair back again and narrowed his eyes as he continued his stare-down with the woman.

The woman, Ukai Noriko, met his gaze levelly, the expression on her rounded, heart-shaped face unmoved and unimpressed.  She wore a summer dress in a flower print that ended above her knees and hugged her generous figure.  She pursed her rosebud lips slightly, and the tight, lilac-streaked ringlets of her pigtails bobbed as she cocked her head and placed a hand with perfectly-manicured fingernails on a hip, demonstrating without the least equivocation that she was expecting a very good answer.

“Why the sour look?” Sakuma Ryuuichi sniffed defensively.  “ _‘I love you, I do.  I’ll never break your heart in two…’_ ”  The twenty-four year old’s voice deepened into rich, husky music.  “Well,” he continued, “I think they’re beautiful lyrics.  Exquisite.  Perfect!  In fact, I’ve never written better in my life.”  With that last expansive statement, Ryuuichi turned from Noriko and sought the eyes of Nettle Grasper’s third band member.  Seguchi Touma, despite his bleached, platinum blonde hair (which inexplicably looked excellent on him) and aquamarine color contact lenses (which somehow suited him better than his own brown irises), was always impeccably dressed.  Today he wore a black top hat with a vibrant red stripe and matching silk gloves.  A long black jacket completely buttoned up and shiny black patent leather shoes completed the ensemble.  The clothes effectively bellied the apparent youth and innocence of his face; he could have easily passed for a child half his age, if it weren’t for the clothes, hair dye, contacts, and the unswerving, serious attitude.  “So, Touma, you’ve been pretty quiet.  What do _you_ think?”

Touma avoided Ryuuichi’s eyes and ran his nimble fingers aimlessly up and down the keyboard in endless scales.  Finally, he looked up and said, “Ryuuichi, perhaps you need a little bit of time to recoup in comfortable surroundings.  You’re tired, and when you’re tired, you become agitated, and both Noriko and I know you can do so much better than this.  I’ll be blunt.  You need a vacation.”  He paused significantly for half a breath, absorbing the vocalist’s visibly affronted reaction.  “In fact,” he added quickly before anyone could open a mouth to contradict him, “We all do.”

***

They met during their third year of high school, the good boy, the punk genius, and the rich kid, united despite their differences, which in other cases would have seemed irreconcilable, by their love of music and their passion for making it.  Noriko was the most accelerated student that the school had ever known, attending classes with students four years her senior.  Touma had returned from an extended stay of over two years in the United States and found himself behind in his entrance exam study, and as such opted to begin at a lower grade than he strictly should have.  Luckily, money glosses over a lot of things.  Ryuuichi had been in awe of these two classmates—the tiny girl who aced everyone in every area of academics and the sophisticated older boy with the elegant style and seraph’s face who should have been in college already.  They were certainly not normal people, and he frankly did not know on what sort of terms he should approach them.

So, he did not speak to them at all…until the autumn festival.  Every year, the school celebrated the season with a series of fun activities, games, sports competitions, and entertainment.  Their class had been in charge of music for the day, and Ryuuichi, along with Touma and Noriko, quickly took charge of the preparations.  As it turned out, both of the other two were talented pianists, and Ryuuichi could sing like a dream.  The music at the festival was a hit, with a number of instrumental performances by students who could play instruments, choral arrangements of both traditional and popular music, a jazz ensemble, and, to top it all off, two original compositions written and performed by the three organizers themselves.  Their songs “Be There” and “The Power of the Dream” were a hit with the students, and in the end, the three newfound friends had to leave the stage amidst calls for a second encore. 

They spent practically all of their free time together after that, hanging out together, studying together, singing karaoke together, playing at the arcade together, going to the movies together, eating at fast food restaurants together, and making music together.  When the time came for them to begin studying for college entrance exams, the trio was faced with one of the most difficult decisions of their young lives:  Whether to go on to college and then enter the corporate workforce where the rest of their lives would be decided for them with conveyor belt certainty with tens of thousands of people like them, or to follow their dream of making music, form a band, and begin the uncertain and fickle club circuit in the hopes that someone would notice them.  When push came to shove, there really was no choice in the matter at all; the band seemed like destiny, inevitability.  Ryuuichi dubbed them “Nettle Grasper” for their willingness to hold the metaphorical thorns tightly without letting go, to take the difficult road without looking back, to face adversity head-on.

The next five years were the most difficult that the band had ever known.  Nettle Grasper met with modest success in the clubs and cafés but was not wildly popular.  Though Ryuuichi’s voice was more magnificent than ever, some complained that two pianists and no other instrumentalist, not even a drummer, to back them up created unbalanced and flat musical arrangements.  No record label offered to pick them up.  They spent most of their time looking for places to perform; during a good week, they would have three gigs each week.  The work was exhausting, but they never quit, never talked of giving up.  They were doing what they loved, and, for Ryuuichi, singing had become the only good reason for living. 

Especially since life had taken a decidedly difficult turn for him.  Whereas Noriko still lived with parents who supported her lovingly, despite her deeply-ingrained eccentricities, Ryuuichi’s family was furious at his decision to pursue music in favor of continuing his education (preferably at a prestigious American university of some sort).  They shouted, argued, begged, pleaded, and finally kicked him out of their home in the Tokyo suburbs.  His share of Nettle Grasper’s earnings was not nearly enough to live on, and, finally, after adding years onto his back sleeping on a park bench for a few nights, utterly ashamed and defeated, Ryuuichi asked Touma for help.  Touma, of course, had money to spare and probably would have taken his friend into his own home and supported him in every way if Ryuuichi’s meager pride had not forbidden it.  Instead, Touma paid the key money for a small but clean apartment in a good neighborhood for the younger man and continued to help him out with the rent.

Things were pretty terrible as they were.  Even Ryuuichi, the eternal optimist of the group, admitted that.  He prayed every night that something would change, that some night, after a set, a record company man would offer them the deal of a lifetime.  At least he was doing what he loved.  That was some consolation.  Still, it would certainly have been nice to make a good salary while doing it.  As it turned out, something did change, but not quite in the way that any of the three members of Nettle Grasper had expected.  The change came first not in them, not in any record company men that might have been keeping a careful eye on them.  Rather, the change came from across the Pacific, where a new-fangled device called the silicon microchip had revolutionized the computer.  These new, smaller and more powerful processors had begun their slow migration from higher academia and reclusive computer otaku and began influencing every area of life, from business to play.  Touma had been the first to own one a couple of years previous, but it was Noriko who first played a song with digital music.  The band had reached a breakthrough moment.  They could compose, record, and play music with complete sets of instrumentals with only a keyboard, a computer, and the necessary software. 

All of it was the answer to Ryuuichi’s fondest wishes.  The computer added depth and interest to the band’s music and gave their work a cutting edge and modern touch that entranced audiences, created and kept fans, and left the record companies salivating for a piece of the technomusic pie.  Sony picked up Nettle Grasper only four months after they had changed their style and offered, what was to Ryuuichi, an unthinkably large cash advance as a part of the initial contract agreement.  So, Ryuuichi was able to start paying Touma back all that he owed, Noriko’s parents beamed with pride every time they saw the three band members together, and Nettle Grasper was in the studio to record the songs that would, if they hoped hard enough perhaps, be the future chart-toppers of Japan.

***

“Vacation” turned out to be an extended stay at a small Buddhist temple in Kyoto.  The Uesugi family, traditional caretakers of the temple going back for dozens of generations, were well-acquainted with the Seguchi family and had first met half a world away in New York City.  Since then, the Seguchis had donated generous monies to the temple and occasionally spent time relaxing and meditating there with their Uesugi friends.  Uesugi Laura had passed away several years ago, leaving behind a monk husband and three children, Mika, Eiri, and Tatsuha.  Touma was particularly close to Eiri, the elder of the two sons, taking pity perhaps on the boy for a freakish genetic defect that left him with nearly colorless eyes and hair and taking especial delight in playing the role of big brother and mentor.  Ryuuichi occasionally wondered if Eiri had something to do with Touma’s strange tastes in cosmetics, but the singer’s spirit was too generous to ask.  Touma took this self-employed job so very seriously, and no matter how much Noriko and Ryuuichi relaxed and played, he was always at work with the sweet but fragile child, coaxing him bit by bit out of his shell and away from his private melancholy.

Lying on his back upon the painstakingly-manicured grass of the meditation garden and staring up at the vibrant, cloudless sky, Ryuuichi vaguely wondered what sort of Buddhist monk would marry a gaijin, father two sons and a daughter with her, and live half of the year in New York City.  Not a normal one, that was for certain, but the head of the Uesugi family seemed very much the unimpeachable, ascetic monk, always at work, prayer, or meditation.  Ryuuichi inhaled deeply and sighed a few times.  This particular secluded spot was undeniably his favorite, in the middle of a ring of climbing rose bushes.  The tangle of leaves, blossoms, branches, and thorns hid him conveniently from prying eyes and offered him the freedom to drift off for hours on end.  Here, he did not have to worry about deadlines or unwritten lyrics.  He could just breathe in the heady sweetness so thick in the air and stare up into the sky—he could just _be_.

In the distance, he could hear Noriko’s voice rising up from the main house, calling for him of course.  He ignored the nagging sound and stretched himself out more fully.  He had hidden from his responsibilities quite a few times over the past couple of weeks here (Alas, “vacation” was that in name only, and the band seemed to think that this pleasant locale would inspire Ryuuichi to new heights of brilliant lyric-writing.), and he had no worries that the sanctity of this place would be breached now.  The sun bathed his body with irresistible warmth, and the light filtered through the leaves in scintillating sparkles.  His body became deliciously weak as the peace of the place filled it with ineffable languor.  Ryuuichi sighed again, surrendering easily, and turned his head slightly so that his cheek rested on the ground.  His soft brown hair spread all around him like a cloak, a few fallen blossoms here and there caught in the strands.  There was no reason to hurry.  He had all of the time in the world.  This moment was beautiful, perfect. 

The warmth and the fragrance enfolded Ryuuichi in a sweet, almost loving embrace.  He felt his mind start to drift away, and he fell gratefully into the sleep that blanketed him so gently.  The world seemed to be rocking him toward dreams in his rose bower.  But, just as sleep was finally about to take him completely, Ryuuichi felt something soft brush against his lips.  His mouth twitched slightly.  It was probably just a fallen petal; not enough to interrupt his rest.  Yet, as though encouraged by his slight movement, the pressure upon his lips became stronger, far stronger than any possible weight of a flower.  Ryuuichi’s eyes flew open in shock.

Someone was kissing him on the lips.  He could not see whom; his face was turned away, but the lips and the cheek that rested on his were both very soft.  He felt a tickle upon his forehead—someone’s hair.  Ryuuichi felt his consciousness returning fully, the initial paralysis of his surprise wearing off.  The lips had not moved from his, and they were so sweet.  Surrendering spontaneously, without even the conscious decision to do so, Ryuuichi inclined his body slowly upwards, lifting his arms to rest upon the slim shoulders of his unknown lover.  Tenderly, he parted the soft lips with is own to deepen the kiss and moved his hands forward to cup and caress the face of—

A boy.  A little boy with a mop of black hair dressed in the loose garments of an initiate monk.  Ryuuichi shoved him away abruptly.  The boy leaned back on his knees and did not look especially surprised or upset.  In fact, he was actually smiling.  “Wow,” the boy murmured to no one in particular.  “It really worked!”

In a haze of shock that left no room for emotions of horror or anger, Ryuuichi realized dimly that this was Tatsuha, the youngest of the Uesugi children.  He faced the boy head-on and would have grabbed Tatsuha’s shoulders and shaken him, if he were not so conscious of having been in such a compromising position with the child a few moments earlier.  He whispered intensely, “What were you _doing_?!”

Tatsuha turned the brilliant smile upon him.  “Mika was telling me this story about a princess, and an evil fairy had cast a spell on her…umm, the princess not my sister, and…where was I…?  Oh, right, and the princess pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, whatever that is, something sharp, I guess, and the spell made the princess fall into this ‘deep, enchanted sleep.’  The princess slept in the tower of her castle until a prince rescued her.  When he kissed her, she woke up.  I didn’t really believe that part of the story; after all, what can a kiss, do, right?…but Mika insisted that if you kiss sleeping princesses, they’ll wake up.  And Mika was right!  I can’t believe it!  I kissed you, and you woke right up!”  The boy bounced up and down eagerly.

Ryuuichi, shock and burgeoning self-recrimination forgotten, sputtered, “B…b…but, I’m not a princess!  Why would you think—”

“But you’re so pretty!” the boy interrupted earnestly.  “Mika told me that princesses always have long hair with flowers in it, and they’re the most beautiful people in the world!”  He continued almost patiently, as if instructing Ryuuichi in obvious facts, “You have long hair with flowers in it, and you are very beautiful.  Therefore, you must be a princess.”  Tatsuha seemed supremely satisfied with the logic of it all and nodded sagely at his own discriminating intelligence.

“I’m _not_!” Ryuuichi shot back in utter exasperation.  “Princesses are girls!”

An incredible change occurred oh-so-slowly in Tatsuha.  He stopped smiling.  He stopped trying to argue.  His face became drawn, almost pained, and when, sympathetically, Ryuuichi leaned slightly toward him, he flinched away and would not make eye contact.  “I didn’t know that.  I’m sorry, Sakuma-san.”  The boy got up and bowed quickly.  He had fled through the branches and thorns and out of sight before Ryuuichi could do anything at all.  Even after he left the safety of the bower, which admittedly felt a lot different now that Tatsuha had invaded its privacy, he could not find the boy.

In all honesty, he didn’t look that hard.  Something in the boy’s voice as he had apologized had disturbed him greatly.  Ryuuichi recalled those liquid brown eyes that had so abruptly turned dull and lightless as, that night, he fell into a deep sleep.

***

The lyrics that he composed the next day wowed even Noriko, his harshest critic.  Even before the rest of the world had awoken to another beautiful day, Ryuuichi had completed his song.  It had just poured out from his pen at a furious pace, but, nonetheless, he had controlled the function of every word, every syllable.  The song was perfect.  Ryuuichi entitled it “Timeless Prince.” 

Nettle Grasper booked three train tickets back to Tokyo to put the lyrics to music and record the song.  They then spent the succeeding week in the studio, and they knew—it nearly went without saying—that they had made a hit.  Their producer swooned.  Sony projected an additional .6% increase in sales for the next quarter.  The band rejoiced at Ryuuichi’s amazing and unexpected turnaround, and the record company was, at least for the moment, appeased.  “Timeless Prince,” the first-ever never-before-heard Nettle Grasper single would be due out next month.  In the meantime, the band had some freedom to put some finishing touches upon their self-titled debut album and perhaps record one more completely new song.  Regardless, no one was in a rush anymore to get things done, and Touma and Noriko had left Ryuuichi more or less to his own business and thoughts.

Which was not necessarily a good thing.  Ryuuichi had time to himself now, too much time.  The boy in the garden and the glistening blood on the thorns occupied his waking thoughts and disturbed the sanctity of his dreams.  He began prowling the streets of Tokyo at all hours, stalking answers to the questions that he had only begun to admit to himself.  Those innocent eyes had stirred something in Ryuuichi that he had never felt before, and the feeling sparked simultaneous confusion and anxiety that he simply could not escape.  What had he seen?  What had those eyes told him?  And why did his body ache at the memory of it all?   

The questions were by no means easy ones; Ryuuichi was not accustomed to self-analysis.  Some might have called him a shallow person, a perfect societal conformist who embraces the values of society simply because it did not occur to him to question them.  This was not strictly correct.  He had always been an impulsive individual, making snap decisions and taking stances very quickly and then stubbornly refusing to budge over them.  Nonetheless, he had a strong moral center, intense and innate compassion for the human condition that channeled and moderated excesses due to any rash action.  Society did not produce that strong sense of right and wrong; it was a part of him from his earliest memories, and it propelled him through a life where each moment became eternal.  It influenced every decision that he made, no matter how rapid.  He lived by his own standards, always.  Ryuuichi’s insightful and rigid moral center had before guided him unerringly; he had no need to evaluate his actions.  His heart’s desires conveniently agreed with his head’s decisions, which conveniently agreed with society at large.  They had always been the right ones that had gotten him where he needed to go.  Now, for the very first time, he was unsure.  He could feel his heart twisting and contracting, the burning irritation below the pit of his stomach.  He knew all too well what he wanted, but he recoiled, afraid.  Already terribly afraid of the implications of the feelings that he would not admit were there.

The casual onlooker, however, gleaned no hint of Ryuuichi’s inner turmoil of rationality and desire.  They saw only a young man of mixed lineage with a long ponytail in conservative, nondescript clothing walking slowly up and down the sidewalks and across the crosswalks, one of many enjoying the azure sky of a gorgeous spring day.  Those who passed close to him admired the perfection of his features.  Some could even hear the refrain of any unfamiliar tune that he sang over and over, in a rich and resonant tenor:

 

“ _‘I stand upon the threshold of eternity, a single shining moment._

_You step away, but I cannot deny the fall._

_In love, the rules of the game have no practical application._

_How long will be too long?’_ ”

 

Unfortunately, Ryuuichi discovered, the conflict was not easy to ignore even in the direct light of day.  His attempts to slam-dunk it all down into the deepest recesses of his subconscious met with stunning failure.  Underneath the placid outward expression, he felt himself twisting and writhing and pacing.  He replayed that final moment in the garden over and over again.  _Princesses are girls!  I didn’t know that.  I’m sorry, Sakuma-san._   The short interchange echoed through his inner ear, and he felt it driving him to distraction.  In a last-ditch effort to take his mind off of all of his insurmountable problems, noticing the sunlight ripple off on one particularly large display window, Ryuuichi stepped quickly into the very next store door that he passed.

As it turned out, “store” was almost too grand a word to describe the place that he found himself; “hole in the wall” was far more appropriate.  A simple, single rectangular room, this place of salvation was a toyshop, and there were toys everywhere, overflowing the shelves and covering the floors in a dizzying array of porcelain dolls, wooden trains, stuffed animals, and other gewgaws of childish pleasure.  At first glance, everything seemed organized haphazardly, but upon closer inspection, the store instead seemed to reflect childish whimsy and a profound respect for the way that they see the world.  Everything was in reach to touch, to hold, to try out.  The cream-colored rocking horse in the far corner seemed especially well-loved.  None of these toys were brand names or had any sort of manufacturer’s label.  Ryuuichi seemed to be the only customer in the store, and he browsed a bit hesitantly, brushing his hand gently over the white lace of the hem of a doll’s skirt—her clothes, and the doll, were handmade.  The wooden blocks, so painstakingly painted, were all obviously hand-carved.  Light poured in through the display window, shifting slowly in its brilliance and bathing the toys in the warm beauty of natural light.  The clean wooden floor with its soft maple varnish shone peacefully amidst the clutter. 

A sudden yet unobtrusive creaking told Ryuuichi that he was not alone after all in the shop.  A small, middle-aged woman stepped from behind a small counter so buried in toys that Ryuuichi had not seen it.  She bowed gracefully to him and offered the standard words, “Welcome.  How may I help you?” in a soft, pleasant voice.

Her impeccable speech and demeanor immediately put Ryuuichi at ease.  She possessed an almost motherly aura, and he sensed that she would never hurt him in any way.  “Forgive the inconvenience,” he replied, “But, right now, I’m just looking.”  Though an automatic polite response, Ryuuichi felt comfortable regarding the woman directly for a few breaths.  Her face was finely etched with lines around the mouth and eyes, and her hair, carefully twisted and piled on the top of her head, was shot through with gray.  She did not dye her hair and clearly did nothing to disguise her age.  She wore traditional dress in sober but refined colors.  Somehow, in a very odd and unexpected way, she seemed an integral part of her surroundings; the unchecked, childish joy of the store and the immaculate folds of the shopkeeper’s kimono seemed but two halves of the same whole.

After experimenting with an ornate and garishly-colored Jacob’s Ladder toy for few minutes, trying in vain to determine how the effect was accomplished, Ryuuichi turned to the woman, who was apparently stitching the face upon a small teddy bear, and remarked with obvious admiration, “This is an amazing store.  I’ve never seen any of these toys anywhere else.  Well, I mean, I’ve seen dolls and trains before, but none that look quite like these.”  He paused for a moment and, noticing that the shopkeeper’s expression did not waver,  “If you don’t mind my asking, have you made all of these toys yourself?”

“Goodness, no!” the woman replied with a warm chuckle and surprising levity.  “I do make some, as you can see here,” she held out the uncompleted teddy bear to Ryuuichi, who politely but genuinely admired the craftsmanship, “but as I’m sure you can also see, I’m getting old.  My husband continues to carve some of the wooden toys, as well, but most of the work nowadays falls to my children.  My husband passed the business on to them a few years ago.  I still like working in the store, though—it gives me something to do—and my children for the most part humor me.”

“You don’t get too tired?” Ryuuichi wondered.

The shopkeeper shook her head ruefully.  “We don’t get the business that we used to, sadly. Children don’t want old-fashioned toys anymore; they spend all of their time with TV, videogames, and stereos.  What is a stuffed animal when you can have a digi-pet?  Still,” the old woman smiled distantly and seemed to muse, mostly to herself, “good toys are so important, you know.  They represent a safe space; with toys, children can experiment with their fantasies, desires, and emotions without censure.  The best toys model reality and provide hands-on practice for real life.”  Shaking her head wistfully, she continued, her eyes shifting though the comforting light pouring through the window, “That’s the problem with all of those new-fangled videogames.  They don’t model the world that we want our children to have, so we get upset when they mistake the violence for the reality.  If a toy doesn’t somehow teach a child to be a better person and to live a better life, it shouldn’t be made.  Look,” she pointed.  “The puzzles teach concentration and spatial skills.  The building blocks and paints teach love of creation and autonomy.  And those baby dolls and stuffed animals over there teach responsibility, compassion, and love.”

“I see,” Ryuuichi replied, not truly “seeing” at all.  Feeling a bit uncomfortable after all of the shopkeeper’s unsolicited directness, he was allowing his gaze to wander once again over the shelves when they fell quite suddenly upon a large pink animal.  More simply-made than any of the other stuffed toys in the store, its expression seemed somehow generic and blank to Ryuuichi.  In fact, he couldn’t initially, even upon inspection, figure out what kind of animal it was supposed to be.  In the end, though, the long, sweeping pink ears gave it away; it was a stuffed bunny rabbit.  The simplicity of that face, which had hardly any stitching at all, regarded him utterly without expectation or emotion.  Whereas the puppy’s liquid eyes asked him to please play, the human infant pursed its lips to be fed, and the bear wanted a big hug (and some honey if she was especially good), the pink rabbit existed.  It simply _was_.

Hesitantly, he lifted the rabbit off of the shelf.  It was excellently-made with thick, pink velvet, silk stitching, and glass eyes and was quite heavy for a stuffed animal, yet so well-balanced that it could sit without any support.  A beautiful, red satin ribbon embroidered with the name of the toyshop was tied around its neck.  For reasons that he could not and did not explain to himself, Ryuuichi wanted it.  “How much?” he asked the woman abruptly, holding out the toy and gesturing to it.

“Hmm?”  The shopkeeper had gone back to her stitching and looked up distractedly.  “Oh, Kumagoro is 7900 yen.”

Ryuuichi sucked his breath in.  That was really expensive for a stuffed animal with such an odd name, but he did not hesitate more than a few seconds.  After all, he had not done any impulse buying since he had left home, and, even if Nettle Grasper’s record deal bombed, he had enough extra money from the initial contract deal that he could afford to splurge and indulge himself a little bit.  Some indulgence is healthy, and Ryuuichi felt greatly in need of some escapist satisfaction.  The shopkeeper took his money happily, wrapped the stuffed rabbit carefully in silver tissue paper, and placed it in a box.  Then, she dropped the box gently into an elegant paper bag and handed it to Ryuuichi.  “I hope you enjoy the toy,” she said with a bow as he left.

A few blocks from the store, Ryuuichi opened the bag and peeked into the box.  Reverently, he lifted the tissue paper.  The stuffed toy gazed placidly back and him.  “So, your name is Kumagoro, huh?” he asked the rabbit confidentially.  “Oh, you don’t?  Well, I think that’s a great name.  Greetings.  My name is Sakuma Ryuuichi.  Nice to meet you.  Please be good to me.”  The two new friends shook hands.  Sweet kiss momentarily forgotten, Ryuuichi walked all the way home with Kumagoro perched on his shoulder, heedless of the occasional stare from an incredulous passerby, wondering how the old woman had known that Kumagoro was for him.

***

The sunlight skipped and danced over the water of the pond set at the front of the Uesugi family temple.  Ryuuichi stood contemplating it nervously as he waited for Tatsuha to return home.  He had wanted to speak with the boy—to understand him on his own terms.  His heart told him that he could not run away from this, not under any circumstances.  The day after Ryuuichi had purchased Kumagoro, he booked a ticket for a ride on the bullet train from Tokyo to Kyoto.  He had been a nervous wreck on the train, his heart beating wildly, his body unable to sit still in the seat.  Was this really a good idea?  Shouldn’t he leave well-enough alone?  The questions tormented him, leaving him weak and drained.  Now, standing on the outskirts of the Uesugi estate, Ryuuichi felt tired, yet oddly calm.  He had committed himself to this course of action, no turning back now, and he was resigned; there was nothing left but to gaze at his own wavering reflection in the pool.  Sighing softly, he rubbed his eyes, noting the green and magenta after-images that the reflected light had left in his eyes.  No matter how much he stared, Ryuuichi could not tell how deep the pond was.  He could not see the bottom.

“Oh…Sakuma-san.  You’re here…!”  Tatsuha had returned, and he ran up to Ryuuichi eagerly, his sandals flapping loudly against the loose pebbles.  At the last moment, though, he hesitated and stopped, casting his eyes toward the ground.

Carefully, Ryuuichi stepped close to Tatsuha and knelt down so that he could look at the boy directly in the eyes.  “Please,” he admonished in a low, unthreatening tone, “call me Ryuuichi.”

Both the man and the boy smiled.

***

Ryuuichi trembled.  His eyes, red and sore, stared sightlessly through the window of his tiny Tokyo apartment.  Well past midnight, the cityscape seemed an endless sea of darkness lit only by helpless, ineffectual stars.  He was alone again; had he ever not been alone?  What had happened?  How had he gotten to this point in his life?  There was nothing left for him.  Nothing.  He could not see any future for himself, now.  Not now.  Never had he done something so terrible.  Never would he have thought himself capable of it.  He felt so empty.  Ryuuichi pressed his forehead against the glass for a moment, and then turned away and hurled himself into his bed.  Curled up into a tight, fetal ball, he wondered if that emptiness always been there, lurking just below the bright, placid surface of his conscience.  Had he never seen it?  Was it possible that, behind that ambient light and warmth of his heart and mind, there had been this nebulous, seething darkness?  Much of his life had been meaningless; he knew that.  A seemingly endless procession of school years and summer vacations.  But then he had possessed the music.  He had thought that it would always be enough.

No, it hadn’t been enough.  Why had he been so blind?  How could he have thought that it would all be okay?  He was missing one thing—there hadn’t been any love.  The music didn’t love him back.  His family had disowned him, and they never talked anymore.  Of course, there were Touma and Noriko, but their relationship had always been delineated by a certain professional distance.  They spent so much time together, had so much fun together, and yet neither had truly seen the inside of Ryuuichi’s heart.  They only saw the light side, never the darkness.  After all, if Ryuuichi himself could not see it, how in the world could anyone else?  If he did not know what he needed, how could he ask for it?  His band members would never cross that final line into a deeper, truer love if he did not give them express permission first.  And he never had.  He had never thought to do so.  They had never thought to ask.

He had been starved for the love.  It was as if his heart had turned upon itself, leaving him so weak and hungry that when a banquet was laid out before him, he could not resist devouring it—even if the fruit, no matter how sweet, was forbidden.  Only, the fruit was still forbidden, even after he had partaken of it once.  He could not go back to that table, no matter how much he still needed its nourishment.  Or how much he was needed in return.

Ryuuichi moaned as the mingled sorrow and despair raced through his body.  It was electric, like a drug, and too much like pleasure.  He buried his face deep into his pillow as he waited for the sensation to subside.  He could not live like this.  He could not wait for the axe to fall…and what if he waited for the rest of his life?  He could not stand it.  And, yet, he would not die, either.  His conscience still would not allow him the mercy of suicide, and what would that solve, anyway?  What if the pain never goes away?  Would it ever?  As long as he loved, it would not.  As long as he remembered his own stupidity, he would never be happy.  As long as this need was still there, nothing, not the music, not his friends, would ever satiate him.  Oh, God, he missed him already.  His very being seemed to be calling out for him.  He could not stop remembering; he had loved, and he could not forget.

He could not even sleep.  Leaping out of bed, Ryuuichi paced around his room for a few minutes, his thoughts turning over and over in circles that he could not break.  There was no way out; he would never be free of this.  No escape from reality, except perhaps in his own mind.  Ryuuichi stopped pacing abruptly; he had never been one to work out his emotional excesses in a physical manner, anyway.  But, this time, it did not matter what he did—he could not escape.  He needed help.  No.  No one would ever save him from something like this.  His one love must go unfulfilled.  He should have been the one making the decisions; he should have been the adult, but he could not restrain himself.  He could not say no.  And, yet, who had the authority to say yes?  Not himself.  Not him.  Then who?  _Who_?  Oh, if only they had meet at a different time, maybe it could have been different.  Maybe then, he could have done right by his love.  They could have loved each other, and the world would have accepted him.  Would have.  Everything is “would” or “should” or “cannot.”  Why couldn’t he break the circle?  Damn him to hell for not being able to wait. 

In the midst of all of this powerlessness and self-recrimination, there had to be an answer.  He still could not see it.  Feeling suddenly vulnerable and afraid, he fell back into bed.  Kumagoro, who had been waiting patiently for his return on his bed stand, suddenly seemed to call out to him.  Impulsively, Ryuuichi pulled the stuffed rabbit close to his chest and hugged it hard.  “Help me, Kumagoro.  I’m so afraid.  And lonely.  I need you so much.  I need you.  Oh, Kumagoro…”  He rubbed his cheek against the pink velvet, and, quite suddenly, his eyes again overflowed with heartfelt tears.  The rabbit, for its part, seemed to hold him back and caress his face comfortingly.

Ryuuichi lay in his bed for many hours, his heart and mind momentarily quiet as he derived comfort in its purest form from the plush body of Kumagoro.  The rabbit seemed warm against his face and under the palms of his hands as he stroked its body.  From deep behind its luminous glass eyes, it seemed to speak to him.  Over and over again, Kumagoro told him to wait and see.  At this point, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he could only wait long enough for love to find him.  “But, I’m afraid,” Ryuuichi whispered into Kumagoro’s silky ear.  “I feel so trapped.  I don’t think I can live like this.  I don’t think I have the strength to wait.”

“I will help you,” Kumagoro returned with profound affection.  “I will protect you.  As long as I’m here, you will never be alone.”

“But…what if someone finds out?  What will happen to me?!”  Ryuuichi whimpered.

“That is a possibility, but it is something that you cannot control.  Besides, what if no one does?  Will you condemn yourself, anyway?  No.  If you wish to live, you have only one choice.”

Ryuuichi clutched Kumagoro harder.  “So…you mean…I have to wait.  And that’s it.  No.  No, I can’t wait.  I’ll be alone for so long…I can’t …”

“Yes, you can.  You can.  You _can_.  As long as I am here, you can.”  Kumagoro repeated the empowering mantra.  “As long as I am here, you can.  And you will because I will protect you.”

A great weight lifted from his heart.  Kumagoro was right.  He was no longer in control.  Not anymore.  Trying to escape that simple fact doomed any other course of action to failure.  There was no point in wallowing in the darkest recesses of his heart.  Why not live in the light, to walk along that narrow beam of emotional security and happiness?  For how many years?  Could he do it?  Yes, he could.  He had decided.  No matter how long.  He could wait out the time it takes.  Slowly, Ryuuichi again got out of the bed.  In five steps, he stood in front of his desk.  At the very front of the desk drawer lay an old pair of scissors.  Without the slightest hesitation, he gathered the long sheaf of his hair with his left hand.  With a steady right hand, Ryuuichi lifted the scissors and began to cut.

There were still strands caught between his fingers as he began, once more, to write.  “Don’t fear the time it takes to get there,” he whispered.

***

“Touma, what in the _hell_ is going on?!  I thought _my_ hair would be the news of the night…and now, _this_!”  Noriko voice rose nearly to a shriek, her new lilac pigtails bobbing furiously, as she pointed to Ryuuichi.  “Just _look_ at him!  He was completely quiet all the way here, but the moment we settled down to start practicing, _this_ began.  He’s been like this for the past hour and a half.  No way he’s in any condition to do this concert tonight.”

To all appearances, Ryuuichi looked completely healthy.  His new white trench coat was immaculate and wrinkle-free, his complexion was clear, and his now inexplicably short hair was tousled and roguishly handsome.  He reclined comfortably on a couch placed backstage with a pink, stuffed bunny rabbit on his belly.  Which bounced around cleverly on aforementioned belly.  “Kumagoro can sing, Kumagoro can dance, Kumagoro can do anything!  Anything at all!”  Ryuuichi sang in a grating, falsetto voice.

Noriko stormed up to Ryuuichi and made a grab at the rabbit.  She missed, and Ryuuichi leaped up onto the couch, standing on the balls of his feet and assuming a defensive position.  Giggling, he dangled Kumagoro just out of Noriko’s furious reach.  “Noriko is so slow!” he shrieked excitedly, like a hyperactive child.  Kumagoro waved and gestured mockingly at her.

“God damn it, Ryuuichi,” she fumed.  “What is _wrong_ with you?!  We’re on in ten minutes, and you’re acting like the real Ryuuichi got beamed up to a completely different planet!  This concert is our one best shot at making it big!  I swear to God that if we fail tonight because of you—”

Noriko was absolutely correct, of course.  This concert tonight was indeed very important.  A do or die situation, even.  Though small, the stage at the El Ruido nightclub was a prestigious one with a long history in Japan.  Built only four years after the Pacific War for the community of American soldiers occupying the country, the club soon became a hip place for Japanese youth fascinated and infatuated with American and Western culture.  Now, the occupation long over, El Ruido still had a reputation for being _the_ place to indulge in the cutting edge of style and sound.  Several of the greatest musicians in the history of Japanese pop music had debuted here, and most of the most well-known cultural critics visited frequently.  Indeed, a rave review from one of these critics in a major newspaper could propel a band into superstardom…while an unimpressed thumbs down inevitably spelled a quick death.

This was their chance to prove themselves, and all understood without saying that if they did not succeed here they probably would not ever succeed at all.  Ryuuichi had wanted this so much, had worked so hard for it, had written a spectacular song for it; Noriko could not understand what had happened…why he seemed to have abandoned their dream.  They needed to prove to the world _tonight_ that Nettle Grasper was a force to be reckoned with.  This was going to be a tough crowd, and they would need to give it everything they’ve got.

Ryuuichi interrupted heedlessly.  “I _told_ you.  It’s Kumagoro!!!!!!  Oops, too slow, again!”  The pitch of his voice rose incrementally as he thrust Kumagoro violently forward and back, its floppy ears swinging, baiting Noriko repeatedly.

Noriko looked as if those new lilac pigtails might turn fire engine red in a few seconds, but Touma rested a gentle hand on Noriko’s shoulder.  “Let me talk to him.” 

“If you think you can get anything sane from our new nutcase, be my guest.  I’m going to do some last-minute checks on our equipment.”  The woman stormed off in a flurry of purple and black sequins.

Touma took a deep breath and braced himself.  The backstage area of the concert hall was small and cramped and certainly not the place to stage a full-scale confrontation.  With all of the stage equipment and props lying haphazardly about, the only things that it accommodated comfortably were a small table that had seen much use and coffee stains and the oversized, brown plaid couch that Ryuuichi seemed set on occupying solo.  Through the dim orange lighting, Touma examined Ryuuichi’s face carefully for any hint at what the man was actually thinking.  Ryuuichi, for his part, seemed to completely ignore Touma’s scrutiny.

“Listen, umm, Kumagoro,” Touma finally began soothingly as he approached Ryuuichi with his gloved hands raised in front of him, as if to prove that he would not be of any harm, “Do you think Ryuuichi is okay to sing tonight?”

Kumagoro cocked his head as if deep in thought.

Touma slowly stepped closer.  “This is really important to Noriko and me, but Ryuuichi is far more important.  If Ryuuichi doesn’t feel alright, just say the word, and we’ll cancel it all.”

Both Kumagoro and Ryuuichi’s heads turned away, and Touma could hear the sounds of urgent conferral.  Then, out of nowhere, Kumagoro turned to face him and held out a crumpled sheet of paper to Touma.  “Ryuuichi wants you two to sing these instead of the old ones to ‘Timeless Prince.’  He says he’ll do the rest.”

Blinking, Touma went stock-still and stared at the sheet.  In hurried handwriting, Ryuuichi had completely rewritten their background vocals.  “Err…is Ryuuichi certain about this?”  Touma looked hard at the back of Ryuuichi’s head, as if looking for any telltale signs of a reaction.  He had not turned to face Touma when Kumagoro handed him the lyrics sheet.

Kumagoro whispered something into Ryuuichi’s ear.  The man nodded slightly.  “Yes, he is certain,” Kumagoro affirmed cheerfully. 

The lyrics looked quite good, actually.  Touma sighed.  “Alright.  We’ll use these new lyrics instead.  I’ll go tell Noriko right now.”  Kumagoro seemed ready to turn back to Ryuuichi.  “Wait a moment,” Touma said quickly.  “Would you do me a favor?”  He waited, and the blank expression of the toy seemed to be regarding him expectantly.  “Please tell Ryuuichi this for us.  Tell him that we love him.  That we care about him.  That his happiness means as much to us as our own.  And, finally, that we will always be here for him, no matter what.  Tell him these things for me, please.”

Touma had finally stepped close enough to touch Ryuuichi.  Ever so gently, he reached out to caress the shorn hair and the soft cheek behind it.  The tips of the short strands were crisp, thick, and rough.  “We’re here for you.  When you’re ready,” he murmured close to Ryuuichi’s ear.  All was still, but Touma could feel the wetness of tears through the thin fabric of his glove.

***

For a moment, Ryuuichi’s body began to tremble again as it had done last night.  On stage, caught in the eyes of hundreds, of thousands, of people, he was again alone with all of his pain and fear.  This was the one place that Kumagoro could not be.  Could he pull it off?  Yes.  He had already decided that he could.  That he would.

Grabbing the microphone, Ryuuichi stared right back into the eyes of the crowd and shouted his greeting.  “Hey, everybody!  How are you doing out there!!!  We’re Nittle Grasper—that’s spelled N-I-T-T-L-E-G-R-A-S-P-E-R, can you spell it along with me?—and we’ve got a few songs for you tonight.”

He could feel Touma and Noriko’s eyes boring into his back, and even hear Noriko’s muttered, “Shit.  Shit.  _Shit_.  What is he _doing_!?”  Ryuuichi chose to ignore it and continue, as the crowd began to grumble impatiently about this opening act that had to be wasting their time, “Oh, come come now…you never know.  You might _really_ like our songs.  Okay?  Our first song tonight is ‘Sleepless Beauty!!!’”

Ryuuichi gave the cue, the music began, and the fingers of Ryuuichi’s two friends danced over the keyboards.  Eyes closed, Ryuuichi let his head fall forward.  The sorrow was nearly overpowering, but he could master it, and he would.  The pain raced through is body again in a wild surge of energy, and Ryuuichi knew then that this strength, this impulse, would drive his music.  On the stage, and only on the stage, would he allow himself to remember.  Quite suddenly, he could feel the hearts of those around him…the essences, the truths, and the needs that they kept secret.  Once, he had stared into the abyss of his own soul, and now, as he did so again, he could see the secret darkness of the entire world staring back at him.  It all seemed hopeless, and Ryuuichi shuddered with new horror and covered his face with the back of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.  How would he shoulder the world’s pain if he could not cope with his own?  Yet, there was one thing that would banish this darkness, one thing that would illuminate these lonely spaces.  He had found that thing, and even if he could not remember it at any other time, on the stage, it burst forth.  The love that he had buried swelled suddenly to the surface of his heart in an explosion of brilliance as his head lifted, his eyes opened, and he began to sing:

 

_From far away, I can see your eyes open and shining as you await he who will awaken you._

_But no one dares breech the ramparts of your wandering heart._

 

_Trapped and afraid          Now are you truly willing to confront yourself?_

_Longing for freedom          Mock the falsehoods that scare you._

_You've started over, and though you keep on smiling alone, your eyes are false._

_When the world so dearly longed for is but ashes…_

_By some miracle, we will happen across each other again._

 

**_Gently embrace me until you break through_ **

 

_Things haven't changed at all; the petals still drop slowly from the roses._

_If you keep on polishing the jewel in your hand, it will someday start to shine._

_With ice-cold hands          You gather up the thorns that tore your hair_

_And lazy days          You maintain a cheerful style_

_That distant light of shimmering emotion, when it doesn't penetrate, I'll find it for you._

_The road is long and the truth hurts, but don’t fear the time it takes to get there._

_Still so trapped_

_Freedom never comes_

_You've started over, and though you keep on smiling alone, your eyes are false._

_When the world so dearly longed for is but ashes…_

_Yes, by some miracle, I promise we will meet again._

_That distant light of shimmering emotion, when it doesn't penetrate, I'll find it for you._

_The road is long and the truth hurts, but DON’T FEAR THE TIME IT TAKES TO GET THERE._

 

**_Gently embrace me and keep catching me until you break through to my heart_ **

****

As the music spiraled to a frantic climax and the crowd erupted into wild applause, the stage lighting increased to almost blinding, white intensity…then abruptly went dark.

 

TO BE CONCLUDED IN TRACK 2…


	2. TRACK 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only ever managed to write small, non-consecutive parts of the second chapter of “The Time It Takes.” This is the first time I am making any of it available. The missing parts of the text are noted where applicable.

_I stupidly thought I could save him, but no one could._

The half-Japanese vocalist of Nittle Grasper recounts his unprecedented rise to fame…

_It was, like, ten minutes before we were on, and all I could do was be, like, “Earth to Ryuuichi!”_

…and the forbidden passion that literally drove him crazy. 

_A single thought somehow penetrated; I have to wait.  No, I can’t wait._

~Only on VH1’s Behind the Music—The Sakuma Ryuuichi Story.~

 

_You know, Ryuuichi was absolutely right!  You are beautiful!_

_What are you talking about?  I’m being serious.  I’m always serious.  You’re definitely the prettiest reporter on TV._

_Really, really._

_Okay, I guess you got me there, didn’t you?  I thought we were all alone with that plate of crackers and cavier…_

_Hey, no fair airing that on national television!  I have the good name of my family to preserve!  Who else is going to take care of that now that my elder brother writes trashy romance novels?  Well, at least he uses a pseudonym._

_What are you talking about, woman?  Why should I be ashamed?  I’m proud to be with Ryuuichi!_

_Yeah, well, what did you expect?  He’s the love of my life._

_No.  There won’t ever be anyone else for me._

_Ever._

_For my whole life, I swear._

_C’mon, who in their right mind would give up a catch like him?  After what happened when I was a kid, I almost lost him forever, you know._

_Yes, that is correct.  He did._

_Let’s see…I was eight years old._

_No, it wasn’t like that at all.  Not at all, and never let anyone think that.  You see, I wanted him as much as he wanted me._

_Absolutely not.  He would never, then or now.  But afterwards, it hurt so badly.  Inside._

_You see, his face was everywhere; Nittle Grasper’s songs filled the airwaves.  His name was on everyone’s tongue.  I was desperately jealous of the people that swooned and crowded over him whenever he made public appearances.  I wanted to see him again.  To talk to him.  To…to feel him again._

_No, I never did.  Not up close, at least.  Mika, my elder sister, wouldn’t let me._

_I guess she knew something.  Somehow._

_Hmm…maybe Touma told her._

_So, what did I do, you ask?  What else could I do?  I became a raging, diehard fan with the rest of them._

_Yeah, it’s almost laughable.  Pathetic, isn’t it, the games we play?_

_And yet, all along, he had placed his heart in my hands._

***

The memories imprisoned him and would not let go.  Tatsuha had looked everywhere for a replacement for him, someone that could match his beauty, his perfection.  But there was no one.  He had looked for the graceful, rounded muscles in other men, the body so elegantly formed and slender, yet so strong.  No man had equaled him.  He had looked for the delicate bone structure, liquid azure eyes, and perfectly symmetrical features in women.  No woman could compare to the beauty that he had seen in that face.  He had looked for the softness and scent of the skin in everyone.  No one.  Nowhere.

An angel had sat before him that long ago night—gloriously naked, long brown hair falling in shining waves over his shoulders and over his face, pooling like liquid silk onto the tatami, and covering his genitals demurely with his elegant hands.  Tatsuha moaned as his own hands slowly inched down his own chest and toward the tangled thatch of pubic hair.  He had seen it, if only briefly, he had seen the thing between the angel’s legs.  It had looked enormous to the boy and so strong.  The shaft had risen straight, and the glans had been completely exposed, exactly the shape of an apricot.  Never had he seen anything so beautiful, and he had wanted so desperately to caress it, to rub his thumbs along the satin skin, to taste this fruit of flesh and blood.  Tatsuha tossed in his bed, remembering leaning forward slowly as at last he touched his own aching erection.  He had gazed briefly into the man’s eyes before he had lowered his head to kiss the tip of it.  Beads of moisture had welled up from the tiny slit almost immediately, flowering over the boy’s tongue like nectar, rich and sweet, and it had quivered deliciously against his lips as the man took a deep breath and shuddered as if in pain.  His hands had moved to grasp the shaft, and his mouth had opened to take the entire head of it into his mouth…

Tatsuha groaned and convulsed under the sheets.  He was so close; he could taste the sweetness on his tongue again, could feel the electricity shoot through his limbs and converge upon his genitals.  His hips lifted off the bed as he came hard, screaming the name of the only person he had ever truly wanted:

“Ryuuichi!”

***

[MISSING TEXT]

***

[MISSING TEXT]

“Eh, Tatsuha, why’re you looking at me like that?”  Ryuuichi tossed his head, trying to shake the hands off of his face, but Tatsuha held firm.

“Why won’t you tell me anything?  Don’t you realize that I’m here for you, that I’ve always been here for you?  I’m right here.  I’m standing at the door, right on the threshold.  So, let me in!  Let me in!”  Tatsuha whispered intensely, close to Ryuuichi’s face.

Ryuuichi laughed with typical frivolity then, but there was an uncharacteristic, sharp and brittle edge to the laughter.  His eyes wandered away, focusing somewhere on Tatsuha’s left cheek.  “I dunno what you’re talking about, Tatsuha, and I always lose keys when people give them to me—K always scolded me for that—so, I don’t think I’m the one to open any doors for you…”

Tatsuha sucked in his breath hard and whispered, “God dammit, Ryuuichi, you know very well what I’m talking about.”  He wanted so much to scream into that beautiful face, to shake those slender shoulders, but he knew that it would draw the attention of the other partygoers, and then he would lose this chance forever.

Strangely, Ryuuichi’s eyes were suddenly peering into Tatsuha’s own.  Tatsuha in return gazed deeply into those azure irises.  At first he saw nothing, only the childish, shallow brightness that everyone saw every day.  Unusual that Ryuuichi would meet his eyes, but nothing truly world-shaking.  Then, as if to mock his dismissal of this incredible event, the eyes began to change, dimming into a dull, flat stare that spoke of years of grinding pain and self-recrimination.  These eyes belonged to a corpse.  Tatsuha, taken very much aback in shock, thoughtlessly began to loosen his grip upon Ryuuichi.

Slowly and succinctly, this dead-eyed stranger bit off words in softly-breathed syllables.  “I _told_ you…I don’t have the key.”  Then, with a fierce wrenching motion that Tatsuha had not known him capable of, Ryuuichi pulled himself away and fled back toward the crowd that loved only the stage presence, not the man.

***

[MISSING TEXT]

***

“Ryuuichi…Ryuuichi, my love.  Time to wake up.  Time to face the day!”

Ryuuichi awoke.  Though the words murmured into his ear were nagging, the voice itself filled him with such a profound sentiment of inner peace.  It had been a terrible nightmare, and no matter how he tried to wake himself up, he just couldn’t break free from it.  Now, he could feel his heart reaching out with invisible hands to embrace the owner of that voice, and his eyes opened slowly, blinking rapidly in the clean light of the morning sun that poured through the bedroom window in a radiant shower.  Tatsuha’s face lay close to his own, a tender yet triumphant, joyful smile playing over his lips.  He was so beautiful, the chin and cheekbones so strong, yet the sorrel eyes so tender and mischievous.  Ryuuichi smiled back, and their gazes locked for a moment in the perfect calm of absolute and unequivocal affection.  Then their mouths came together in a sweet morning kiss.

Tatsuha wanted more than anything spend the entire morning with Ryuuichi in bed, cuddling and kissing, caressing and making love, but they had responsibilities to the world today, so, reluctantly, he broke the kiss.  Absently running his fingers through Ryuuichi’s hair, noting with delight that Ryuuichi snuggled deeper into the covers at his barest touch, he pursued his earlier line of thought.  “Well, sleepy-head,” he ruffled the feathery brown locks, “we’ve got our Behind the Music interview first thing this morning—don’t want to miss that.  You’ll finally have the chance to come clean about everything…and _I_ can show the world what amazing luck I have in men!”  Tatsuha rubbed his cheek against Ryuuichi’s and pressed his nose into the older man’s neck to savor the intoxicating fragrance of his skin.

“Well,” he whispered, letting the edges of his front teeth touch Ryuuichi’s earlobe gently, “Are you ready?”

“I am.”

Laughing happily at the confirmation, Tatsuha stood up straight, stepped back, and ripped the covers from the bed in one swift motion.  Ryuuichi flinched slightly with surprise, but he did not attempt to cover his body.  The play of rippling sunlight over spare curves and smooth flesh was exquisite, and unconsciously, Ryuuichi inclined is body upward toward the warmth of the natural light and inhaled deeply, as if he could draw that warmth into his very core.  A perfect moment.  His eyes closed; he lifted his arms.

Tatsuha leaned into those outstretched hands and lifted Ryuuichi lovingly out of bed and onto his own two feet.

_Gently embrace me and keep catching me until you break through to my heart._

 

END

**Author's Note:**

>  _Gravitation_ is copyrighted by Murakami Maki and her affiliates. VH1 and _Behind the Music_ belong to Viacom and were named in order to add authenticity and ambience to the fanfic. “Sleepless Beauty” is sung by Iceman; the original Japanese text is not mine. However, the English version of the song found above is my own adaptation and is too loose to be a translation. The excerpt and title of the song “Timeless Prince” and all other situations in the story are my own creation.


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